


Lyss's Sherlock Ficlets & Drabbles

by ALC_Punk



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Drabbles, F/M, Ficlets, Fluff, Molly Hooper/Sherlock Holmes - Freeform, Sherlolly - Freeform, occasional smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-23
Updated: 2018-10-23
Packaged: 2019-08-06 07:12:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 1,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16383677
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ALC_Punk/pseuds/ALC_Punk
Summary: Ficlets and drabbles written off prompts, lines, etc, or random moments that made sense at the time. Stored like this since it would require titles, which I've never been fond of. Well, mostly. Most are probably Molly/Sherlock, and at least one has random smut in it. Hence the rating.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> If this ends up more than ten chapters, I'll eventually have to put in a table of contents. 
> 
> Anyway, this first one is inspired by  
> 23\. "You don't have a job."

She hadn't meant to sound so angrily scornful, but he'd been grating on her nerves ever since the debacle with Magnusson and his renewed drug addiction not to mention there was this Moriarty is Back thing hanging over her head. Jim would never allow her to escape this time, were he truly alive. He'd over-looked her before, he wouldn't be stupid enough to do so now. If, of course, he really wasn't dead. She didn't want to think about that possibility. She knew what he was capable of, she'd helped Sherlock fake his own bloody death to avoid it, after all.

"You don't have a job," she'd said, and Sherlock's face had frozen for a moment in a frown. Consulting detective was a made-up title, the pennies he earned from NSY were nothing to what he could earn from a random client who would call him a _private eye_ or just plain, old, regular, _detective_.

But he didn't contradict her, he simply blanked for a moment, then shrugged as if he didn't care.

The flicker of something that might have been hurt she discounted. Sherlock Holmes did not get _hurt_. Not by mere words.

She knew that was a lie.


	2. This is the smutty one

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Inspiration:   
> 38\. "Shut up and fuck me."

She should never have mentioned she liked a bit of dirty talk.

Even with Sherlock's deepest voice, his mouth right next to her ear... the words left something to be desired.

"You've been thinking about this - fantasized quite often, if I'm to believe John's opinion on women and masturbation. In the soft of the night, you've lain there, thinking about me covering you, stroking you, sliding against your body until all you can do is--"

Molly pushed against his chest, flipping them over, and clapped a hand over his mouth. "Just shut up and fuck me, you idiot."

He was obviously going to object to her wording (or blame her for suggesting it), so she ignored him in favor of fumbling between them to find his cock with one hand as she wriggled then took him inside her in one swift move.

They both let out sounds of enjoyment, Molly felt a rawness to the movement from this angle. The need to rock and grind against him was almost overwhelming. As she pushed upwards to begin, his hands grabbed for her hips, and she forced herself to _move_ before the moment was lost to white noise and pleasure.


	3. Knives and gun fights

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Writing test, basically, I am writing from some random prompts and quotes. This one's quote is: "You brought a sword to a gunfight?"

Molly wasn't sure where Sherlock had pulled the bloody sword from, but she felt it wasn't the most useful item he could have brandished when they were being held at gun-point.

"Drop it," the one on the left growled, his pistol unwavering as it pointed at Sherlock's chest.

"What would be the fun in that?" Sherlock demanded, stepping forward, putting himself in front of Molly, the sword dangling carelessly in his hand.

Then in a move of senseless stupidity, he swung the sword up and swiped it across one man's wrist and slapped the other's gun away. It happened so fast, neither man had time to react, though the second made the mistake of squeezing the trigger. The sound of the bullet shattered the night, but it was so wildly aimed, it missed everyone.

Sherlock was then standing over both men, sword still in hand as it shifted back and forth between them, just _waiting_ for one of them to try something. "Molly. Call Lestrade. We have two more the gang to hand over to him."

One of these days, Molly thought as she pulled out her phone while glaring at his back, he was going to get himself killed.


	4. That time Sherlock was a werewolf

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock is totally a happy lone wolf. Who is annoyed at the world. And Mrs. Hudson is unimpressed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Basically, I have a ridiculous headcanon about Sherlock as a shape-shifting werewolf now, and Molly's a necromancer with a wolf affinity, and they're together.   
> Also, John's a sprite, Mary's a different type of shape-shifted, Mrs. Hudson is NOT amused. 
> 
> And Mycroft might be annoyed that his brother is better at the wolf thing than him.
> 
> Inspired by a post on tumblr which I fought to try to reblog and failed at.

The wolf gave a long, mournful howl, then followed it up with a series of loud yips. The sounds echoed round the flat, seeming to get louder with every repetition. It was the sort of mournful yet angry sound of a man locked in a never-ending struggle with himself. That he was mostly making the noise just to make noise, was beside the point. 

As a wolf, he'd discovered that howling and raging were far more fun than even shooting holes into the wall. Such a pity he couldn't shape-shift at will as easily as others could (he would never admit to jealousy over Mary's abilities). 

He was, at the least, lucky not to have his changes governed by the moon.

Leaping down from his chair, Sherlock used his momentum to stalk into the kitchen, claws and paws making clicking stomping noises that weren't quite as satisfying as when he was human (perhaps he could learn to howl as a human male, there was an experiment to try the next time he was thinking of shooting the wall in his dressing gown). But they were enough. He echoed them with another mournful howl. 

Behind him, the door opened, and Mrs. Hudson came bustling in. "Sherlock Holmes, you stop that this instant. It is far too late at night for this, young man."

Giving a snarl, Sherlock stalked forwards. How dare his landlady pretend she could force him to do as she willed? He was a wolf, he was the lone master of the wild and the world. Everything was his domain, and he would be flayed alive before he bowed to her will. 

She stayed in front of him, looking unimpressed, as though knowing quite well the tone of this thoughts. "You change yourself back before I call Molly."

_That_ brought him up short, and he actually stepped back a moment, a quiet little whimper escaping him. Both his human and his wolf sides remembered the terror of the last time his girlfriend had been requested to teach him a lesson over being civilized.

Mrs. Hudson crossed her arms over her chest. "Now, Sherlock."

Grudgingly, and with quite a lot of stink-eye, the Great Consulting Detective-turned-Shape-shifting-Werewolf, did as he was ordered, returning to the shape of a man. It was either that, or suffer Molly's idea of punishment. And not the fun kind which included being tied down and teased until he was a begging, gasping mess (although, he was considering just how to rile her up into doing so again). No, she would turn his fur pink and take him for _walks_ with bling on his collar. 

He shuddered at the thought, wondering how he'd managed to retain the word 'bling' in the first place. "Happy?"

"Put some clothing on, and we'll see." His landlady replied. She leaned in and took a long sniff, "And take a bath, you smell terrible."


End file.
